


Bear in Mind

by demolate



Category: Bleach
Genre: Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5860441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demolate/pseuds/demolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a not-so-distant future the Quincy have left Soul Society in shambles, hopeless and awaiting the end. When Urahara's last-ditch attempts to send Ichigo into the very near past go awry he finds himself trapped in world where Aizen is still a respected captain, familiar faces are few and far in between, and he must navigate his way through defeating not one but two enemies.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When it Happened

 

_**PART I** _  

* * *

Everything was black at first.

_**You'll only have a week before it starts.** _

He wasn't sure what he had expected— pain, noise, light— but it wasn't this. Nothingness.

**_Act fast. You'll only have one chance._ **

No sensation. No feeling. All he had were those lingering words of Urahara's, curt and rushed. It had all happened so fast, the screaming, Ywhach, all those crushed buildings and crushed bodies, and suddenly he was being dragged away. Taken down, further and further. Shoved into that jagged metal contraption. And now this, whatever _this_ was.

He just wanted them to be alright. All of them. It didn't matter what it would take. This time, they were going to _live._

**_And… be discreet. You don't know what they can hear._ **

* * *

He had barely expected it to work— whatever _it_ really was— but he was here now, under a little thicket of trees, the grass dewy beneath him, First Division in his distant line of sight. He felt everyone he'd left behind, or at least almost everyone, in a reiatsu cluster in that building. A captains meeting.

Arriving had been so strange, like being shoved out the door of an airless room, it had barely happened a minute ago and already it seemed fake. He wished he'd had the chance to talk to Urahara, because what now? Here he was and Soul Society was unscathed and there wasn't a Quincy in sight, but what the hell was he supposed to do? _"You don't know what they can hear,"_ Urahara had said but what the hell did that even mean? Ichigo knew that the Quincy had been living in the shadows— were currently coiled up and ready, maybe even watching him think under the shade of the trees— but could they really hear everything? Was it even possible to get to them?

How the hell was he supposed to stop an enemy when he didn't know where exactly they were, how to get to them, or who to tell? As of now, no one had heard about the Quincy for around a thousand years, and even then only Yama-jii and Unohana had been captains. But Yama-jii hadn't believed Mayuri when he'd brought up the Quincy, and something told Ichigo if he were to barge into a captains meeting insisting an evil army was lurking in the shadows the reaction would probably be the same. He didn't even know if there'd been any signs yet, if anyone suspected anything wrong. Apparently a few days before the invasion almost an entire district in Rukongai had gone missing, but not yet. Nothing yet. Urahara said not to waste any time, but there didn't seem to be much more option. He needed to talk to someone, and even though his first choice was currently in the very-near future a close second was in reach. Rukia.

He took off to the First Division in a flash of shunpo and anxiousness. She would believe him, even if she didn't understand.

Two guards stood poised by the stairs to the meeting hall. Ichigo strode up, about to start up the steps when one of the solders grabbed him by the shoulder. "What do you think you're doing?" The man sneered, so tall he had to cran his neck to make eye contact, "There's a meeting in progress!"

Ichigo tried to stay polite, but he felt like a rubber band stretched a taut second away from snapping. "I know, I just want to wait fo—"

"What's your name?" The other, smaller sentry asked.

"Ichigo. Kurosaki Ichigo."

The larger kept his frown, no click of recognition, no sudden embarrassment at his brashness, "You're not a captain, you're not a lieutenant, you can wait down here."

Ichigo balled his fists and turned away. He didn't want to do anything stupid, but had a feeling he just might if he stayed. He was faster than them anyway. In a blur he dissapeared before the men, around the stairs and up onto the roof. He jumped, roof to roof of the vast first division until he was vaguely close to the meeting hall and then reeled in his reiatsu. If he got too close they'd be able to sense him, and he didn't want to deal with anyone until he knew what he was going to do. If Rukia didn't have any ideas the he'd go back to the human world and see Urahara and have the strangest conversation in the history of ever. Maybe he shouldn't even been waiting for Rukia, who's to say she'd have a solution?

But before he had the chance to leave the Captains meeting was out, figures filling out the doors. He was going to say something to Rukia— may as well. Maybe it would even be a good idea to ask her to come. He could only make out a select few at first— Ukitake with his long white hair and Kyoraku's pink kimono and Komamura as huge as ever and back in his armour— as he scanned the crows. He would need to get closer though, she wasn't the only lieutenant with short dark hair and from this distance he'd never be able to tell them apart. From so far away Toshiro— oddly enough lacking his captains robe— looked moderately tall.

Ichigo skipped roofs until he was on the building beside the platform they were beginning to exit across, so close he could hear their conversation. His eyes skimmed across Hisagi's spiky hair and Mayuri's general ridiculousness, looking for that tiny figure with the short hair and white sword. He didn't see her. He was about to squint, focus and really try concentrating on every face, try slowing his frantic glancing, but a voice cut through,

_"What do you mean another meeting tomorrow?!"_ it demanded, gruff and worn. _"That's the third this week!"_

Now, Ichigo did not know every captain and lieutenant very well on a personal level but he was entirely certain that he could at lease recognize any of their voices, and that was not one of them. He rattled his brain, trying to match a tone to a face but came up dry. He had not heard this man before. He looked down to the source, at the spiky hair he'd thought belonged to Hisagi but upon closer inspection sat atop the head of someone tatoo-less and most certainly _not_ Hisagi. And even though Ichigo couldn't recognize the voice that didn't mean the face wasn't familiar because it was. Very, very, very familiar. Not to anyone he'd seen in Soul Society though. He did a double take, and a triple, convinced he was looking at his own skewed reflection, but no. The man continued to move and speak while Ichigo's mouth remained shut and his body statue-stiff.

_Kaien._

He had never seen a picture, but Ichigo knew that face— it was the one he saw whenever he caught his own reflection. This was Kaien. Before he'd never been able to imagine them looking as alike as everyone said, had assumed they shared a feature or two, but now he was shocked that they hadn't made a bigger deal out or it. This guy Ichigo had never met before, who had been long dead by the time he was even been born, was more recognizable than the people he'd known and fought with for years. It should've been impossible, but here he was. Rukia would be thrilled, wherever she was. He'd meant so much to her, and now, somehow, he was back. That was probably what the captains meeting had been about, welcoming back a long-lost lieutenant, explaining how any of this was even possible. Rukia needed to be here. He would've imagined her flanking around Kaien, the rest of her world on mute, but she was no where. Instead Kaien was now talking to Toshiro, too hushed for Ichigo to make out their words. He tried reading their expressions, but when his eyes drifted to Toshiro his blood went cold.

Everything was all wrong. Too tall. No haiori. Silver hair.

A foxes face.

It wasn't Toshiro he was staring at.

It was _Gin._ His bone-chilling smile and shut eyes, nodding at Kaien's words. Two dead men… Ichigo began to wonder if they had come back unscathed to Soul Society or if he himself had made an awful mistake getting into that machine if Urahara's and was now in a strange underworld with them. He blinked some more, looked away and looked back because this couldn't have been real. He wasn't seeing this right. But then Gin said a goodbye to Kaien and strode over to a figure who was paused talking to Unohana. A figure in a captains rope, only the dark, shaggy back of his head visible.

Even though this man was not facing him, even though Ichigo had no way of seeing his face, he damn well _knew_ who it was. He could feel it. Standing within earshot, standing so close Ichigo could slice his head clean off before anyone could detect a sliver of reiatsu, was Aizen.

_Fucking Aizen._ Ichigo grabbed the hilt of his sword, the moment taking over, and nearly sprung. He would've, but at that moment Gin's head pivoted just a bit to face Ichigo. His eyes were nearly shut, there was no way to tell where he was looking, but then his smile crooked just a bit and Ichigo's heart stalled in his chest and he hurtled himself off that roof. He needed to leave. He needed to be anywhere _but_ where he was. He sprang from roof to roof to roof until he was out of the First Division barracks and far, far away from all those reiatsu signatures.

How the _hell_ had he not noticed? How had he not _felt_ them?

Eventually he was in a wooded area he didn't recognize, probably near the gates to Rukangai by now. He didn't stop by free will though— no, he ran and he ran like a chicken with its head chopped off until his foot snagged a tree root and sent him hurtling into the hard ground. His cheek, chest and right shoulder connected first, with such force his body skidded a few meters, leaving a scar of dirt amongst the green grass. His jaw slammed together, a chuck of tooth wriggling loose in his mouth followed by the metallic tang of blood. Everything throbbed. Motivating himself to get up seemed like a lost cause.

Of course Kaien hadn't come back to life, that was idiotic. Somehow Urahara, or the universe, or whatever other forces had come into play to send him back had fucked up somewhere along the line. He should've known, nothing to do with Soul Society ever went as plan so why did he think this would be any different? He wondered how far back he was. Obviously after the whole Holowification incident if Aizen was a captain, but before he had arrived in Soul Society to rescue Rukia that first time. So anywhere between 3 to 100 years ago. _Fantastic._

Now he sure as hell couldn't go the the Shinigami. Had he gone back to the correct time they would've been skeptical at best, with his tales of time travel and a thousand-year-old enemy lurking in the shadows, and ready to lock him up on the grounds of absolute insanity at worst. Now there was no chance. What could he do, wander into a captains meeting, insist he knew all them, that he'd saved the world on more than one occasion, that one of their own was a traitor, and _then_ tell them about the Quincy? They'd been trigger happy back then, back _now,_ and he didn't think storming in with accusations would fare well for him. Before he'd won their trust by charging in with a rag-tag army and attacking some of them and then bringing down an entire conspiracy but somehow he didn't think that opportunity would present itself again for a very long time. He needed an in, a way to get them on his side again.

So far as he knew there were only two ways to become a shinigami: either by putting in six whole years at the academy and then slowly climbing the ranks, or shooting straight for a captains position and duelling to the death with whoever was currently in charge of the Eleventh Division. The second was tempting, he could march right up, demand a fight and be wearing a captains haori by nightfall. But if he were to do that he'd either have to duel the Kenpachi he knew or would have to in a few years, and even though all of the badgering and demands for a rematch were a piss off, Ichigo didn't want to kill Kenpachi. At all.

So, Academy it was. An absolute waste of his time but he didn't see any other way. _Maybe I'll even run into someone I know,_ he thought before realizing how absolutely useless that would be, since no one anywhere would have any idea who he was. Unless Urahara found a way to pull him back to the broken present, which he didn't want, than the next few years would be lonely. And confusing.

A complete fucking headache, actually.

_Urahara,_ he thought while finally pulling himself off the ground, _what the hell did you do?_


	2. Nightmare Vision

_**PART I** _

 

* * *

Ichigo was now an official first year student of the Shin'ō Academy.

Sort of.

He was still a bit reluctant to accept the 'first year' part.

His enrolment had been… _strange,_ to say the least. He'd gone right after picking himself up out of that hole his body had dug in the ground, still covered in dense mud and wilted grass with his lip split open. Also, apparently most people _applied_ to become a student. So when Ichigo wandered in all bloody and filthy still in his shredded shihakushō— something he'd forgotten he was wearing, _something only members of the goddamn Gotei 13 were supposed to wear—_ and told the first teacher-ish looking person he saw that he would like to attend the Academy there was a _bit_ of confusion.

Actually, a lot of confusion, considering the only reason they didn't kick him to the curb straight away was that they thought he was a Shiba.

After that he was taken into an office-looking space by the teacher-ish person he'd approached, a short little man on the verge of balding, who told him to _'wait here'._

So Ichigo waited and he waited, until a very tall, very frail woman named Tsumara walked in with a stack of papers and asked him some questions. Mostly about Kaien at first and whether or not they were related or even knew each other— no to both of course— and then once that was out of the way and it was established that he was most certainly not a noble she wanted to know who he was and where he came from and _why on earth_ he was wearing a shihakushō in the first place, and that was were it got tricky.

Because 'the future' wouldn't have been an acceptable answer he'd had to lie and lie, spinning a tale that neither of them really believed. He'd said he was from Inuzuri since that was the only district of Rukongai he remembered the name of, and that he found the shihakushō laying around and kept it since it was nicer than anything he'd ever owned. But then she asked how he'd gotten there, to the Academy, which was in Seireitei and 78 districts away from where he'd said he was from and guarded by a very large gate. Ichigo had not thought about that, and was silent for too long before finally saying that he'd _walked,_ which would've taken days or weeks and when she reminded him of that and asked him to elaborate he said he didn't remember and that the journey had tired him into delirium. He'd been hoping all that would somehow make her forget the question of his name, but it didn't. When she asked he told her he didn't have a name, and then when she huffed, _'Well, what are we supposed to call you?'_ he said it didn't matter. She just pursed her lips.

And even though she very obviously knew he was lying and didn't seem to much like him that was apparently neither here nor there, because he was permitted to take the entrance exam. She said he could come back tomorrow, but he insisted on taking it that day and even though it annoyed her she said _fine,_ and that another student was currently testing but they would try and fit him in right after. She also made sure to tell him how lucky he was, arriving at the start of the year, and one of the very few years they'd had a shortage of successful applicants.

The actual exam had amounted to some light sparring with an instructor— both hand to hand and with a dull wooden pole— and then he was asked to to reel in and flare his reiatsu, which he was certain was where most students had failed. The entire time he'd been second guessing himself, it was all so easy and he didn't want to show them too much and raise red flags or show too little and get put away into one of the bottom-tier classes and have to spend even _more_ time there. Fortunately though they'd seemed just impressed enough. They offered him a spot— Class One of course, a room in the dorms, and shoved a uniform at him with a grimace to his current attire. Then that lady, Tsumara, came back and hissed that he'd better buckle down and take this very seriously because he was arriving a whole week in and since he had no name they would be calling him Inazuri and, _again,_ he was so very lucky to be here and ought to appreciate it. He would start the next day.

That night he lied in bed listening to the low hum of chatter in the room next to his and tried letting it drown out his own thoughts. He didn't want to think about Aizen or Yhwach or whether or not he'd be stuck here forever, not right now. He just wanted to know what they were saying, those people a wall away from him. Even though he couldn't make out any words every once and a while the tone would pick up and get louder, but he didn't think they were arguing. They sounded excited.

The little room they'd placed him in consisted of a little window, two futons, and two desks. But no roommate. They'd said there was an uneven number of first year students, and that again being _so very_ _lucky_ he wouldn't have to share. It was probably for the best, but still— he'd never lived by himself like this. At home he had his dad and Yuzu and Karin, at school he had his friends, and then here in Soul Society he _usually_ had the Shinigami. He wasn't used to not having an option in whether or not he was alone. It was weird.

He wanted to sleep, for tomorrow to come. Maybe being in a class and training would help, would clear his head. He still hadn't decided if he wanted to be in a class with someone he knew. Being surrounded by unfamiliar faces might seem strange at first, but if he were to talk to a friend or even an acquaintance and have to pretend not to know them because they wouldn't know him, that might be worse. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, every option as shitty as the next.

 _Sleep,_ he reminded himself again, trying to shut off his brain and let the mutters next door take over. There was nothing left in today for him, nothing to be said or done to straighten this out.

He just needed to give all this _time—_ which was maybe for the best, considering time was all he really had.

* * *

The cold air woke him.

It was seeping into his bones, burning his lungs.

He expected to find his tiny window open, but when looked back to it there was no wall. No bed either, he was back lying on a hard surface. This wasn't his room.

Everything was red and black, and so dark he could barely see. The only illumination was the redness, every object shrouded in the eerie glow. It took him a while to recognize this place, the colours were all wrong, but eventually it started to click— a side-swept city, the bright crimson clouds drifting along vertically, the new found emptiness.

He was in his inner world.

He got up, paced around, looking at the bloody sky, the shadows hovering above. Every time he exhaled it would come out in a puff of white air. When was it ever this cold?

Just as he wondered if anyone was left here he felt someone behind him. He whipped around, but everything in that direction was cast in blackness.

There was a cackle. _"Oi, King!"_

That voice.

"Hol–" no, not The Hollow. Not anymore. "Zangetsu?" He asked the dark space before him.

_"So you're finally gettin' it."_

He didn't like this. The voice bounced along the buildings, echoing like they were in a valley, making pinpointing him impossible. "Why am I here?"

 _"Shouldn't you be askin' Urahara that?"_ Another snicker, _"I'm your Zanpakto now, King. Things are gonna be different."_

There was something almost threatening in the way he said it. "What do you mean _?"_

A beat of silence. _"Why'd ya lie about your name?"_

He hesitated. "I don't know."

_"Yeah ya do."_

"I don't— I just," Ichigo inhaled, exhaled, tried relaxing his breathing. "I didn't want them to recognize my name when I go back."

 _"Huh,"_ he sounded closer, somehow, even though Ichigo hadn't heard any movement, _"That the same reason you BURIED_ _me in the fucking GROUND?"_

Shit. Ichigo had been hoping that wouldn't come up. But what else was he supposed to do? No way he could've wandered into the Academy with a zanpakuto, never mind one like Zangetsu. Absolutely no way. He hadn't had anywhere to put it, and didn't want anyone to steal it, so he'd buried it— in that hole his fall had made, back over by the division barracks. He was going to go and get it tomorrow, of course, but he had a feeling Zangetsu didn't much care about that. "Is that why I'm here?"

There was more silence, just the sound of Ichigo's shaking breath, before Zangetsu huffed, _"Nah, King. I'm your Zanpakuto now. I wanna help."_

"'Help' me? With _what_?"

 _"Not so bright in the past, eh?"_ Another one of those laughs, _"Ya didn't give them a name so they wouldn't remember you, but what about your face? You're the spittin' image of that lieutenant, and don't ya think they'd remember that more than a_ name _?"_

"I—" Ichigo paused. Right. How the hell had he not thought about that? People had been staring all day he looked so damn much like Kaien. God, what if they'd been telling people? A doppelgänger boy without a name who just wandered out of one of the toughest districts of Rukongai. It was a story, and even worse a _memorable_ one. "I didn't think about it."

 _"Imagine that!"_ Cackle. _"Ya know, if you'd thought about it before comin' here, you probably coulda just done somethin' about the hair. Too late now though."_

 _Dammit._ How had he been so stupid? He couldn't stay here, meeting people he knew, becoming something to talk about, if it meant breaking the future. He didn't know what it would do, if on that first rescue mission he'd arrived to find the people here already knew him, but without a doubt it would change things.

 _"Ah, King. Don't worry,"_ Zangetsu spoke, sounding so close Ichigo swore that he'd feel him if he were to stick an arm out, _"Like I said, I'm your_ Zanpakuto _now, and we're gonna start workin' together. I'll fix this."_

It sounded terrible. "No, H- Zangetsu, don't. I don—" but the sight of yellow eyes hurtling toward him, gleaming like flashlights in the dark, cut him off. The last thing he saw was Zangetsu's bright white hand, fingernails claw-sharp, inches from his face.

Then everything away. No light, no sound. His face though, it felt wet.

He reached up to wipe it, but when his hand landed on his flesh he saw stars. The pain was white-hot. It was bright, and loud, and overrode everything else. He hissed. Every time the air hit it was like being lashed with a stream of acid. He tried getting back up, scrambling away, but when he did he fell.

He tried opening his eyes, but one either stayed shut or had lost its vision completely and the other took its time adjusting to the dark.

The only light was a moonlit square on the ground in front of him, cast by the window above. He looked to his feet, tangled in sheets while the whole rest of him hung off a futon. Beside him was a nightstand, and further away another futon.

_What the hell?_

This was his dorm. This was the _Academy._

For a moment he wondered if the whole thing had been a dream, but his face was still wet and searing. He kicked his feet free and ran into the bathroom.

His fingers scrambled for the light, slapping up and down the wall until he found it. The tiny bathroom flooded with a yellow cast. He stared into the mirror.

What he was looking at, it didn't look like him. It was red all over, with two meaty gashes: one from the forehead, across the nose, ending at the corner of the mouth, and the other starting below the eyebrow, skimming the edge of the sealed left eye, and tapering off at the left nostril. They made a misshapen 'Y'. The larger one, the one that began at the forehead, seemed impossibly deep, still hemorrhaging blood in thick rivulets.

It didn't shock him until he began to recognize this thing— this thing that looked like a slashed steak— as his face. He was looking at himself. A nightmare version.

He thought about washing the blood away, but the cuts were still pouring and for all the pain there'd be he didn't see a point. He looked into the basin of the sink he was hunched over, the whole thing slick and red, and felt lightheaded. Maybe it was just the shock, but if it were bloodloss he'd have to do something. He couldn't get medical attention, too many questions and they might fix it completely, which he wasn't sure he wanted. It was something he'd have to take care of himself. Maybe he could stitch it up.

As he listened to the blood _drip, drip, drip_ into the sink he realized something. The floors. He stepped out of the bathroom and looked back into the room. Sure enough, his sheets and the floor were splotched in red. Fuck _._ One more thing.

He had to clean his sheets, his floor, dig up Zangetsu so this shit wouldn't happen again, and sew up his face.

It was still late, probably, and now he couldn't get to sleep even if he wanted to— which he didn't. He'd be busy tomorrow, the classes here would be long. He might not have time for all of those things and since some of them— his face, namely— were pressing he might as well burn through all them while everyone slept.

He grabbed his shredded shihakushō discarded in the corner, tore off the end of the sleeve and tied it around his head to quell the blood flow. It still seeped down his forehead and into his working eye, but at a slower rate. It would have to do.

As quietly as possible, he eased his bedroom window open and tried hoisting himself through. It was so tiny though, he had to maneuver a fair bit before he was out.

Drop wasn't far, two small storeys, but the breeze against all that broken skin made him wince. Shunpo wouldn't be fun. None of this would be.

* * *

The next morning Ichigo was bathed and ready long before he heard any kind of commotion in the halls.

Last night had been a long one.

He'd broken into the Fourth Division first— stolen needles, thread, new bedding— and then decided he might as well grab Zangetsu. By the time he got back to his room his vision was blurring and his hands were so shaky that he stabbed himself in the wrong place at _least_ ten times while stitching up his face, all the while wondering why he hadn't checked for any pain killers. He'd done an awful job and chosen a thread that looked way thick, and now his face somehow looked even worse than when it looked like raw meat.

Also, the blood-glaze and all the sharp pain had somehow concealed what had happened to his nose. It was broken, definitely. An additional gash tore across the bridge, crisscrossing with the much larger Zangetsu-induced one, and it had swelled up to unrecognizable proportions. Like a boxers nose. The only easy part of last night had been the cleaning. Luckily there were no carpets in Soul Society, and the bedding he'd taken from the Fourth Division was identical to the ruined ones— which he'd balled up and hidden in the closet and would dispose of later. Then, he wiped the dirt off Zangetsu and slid it beneath the extra futon.

He'd finished it all up a little over an hour ago, and had been lying motionless ever since, just waiting for class to start. He was even dressed. The moment the stirring started outside his door he was up.

There were only a few students in the hallway, lazily heading out of the dorms. It was probably still too early. Ichigo looked at the little piece of paper he'd been given yesterday, a make-shift schedule till they made him a real one:

_700-800 Lecture_

_830-1100 Hohō_

_1130-1400 Zanjutsu_

_1430-1700 Kidō_

_1700-1930 Hakuda_

It'd be one long-ass day. He had no idea where anything was, either. They'd given him a little map Of the school grounds but it was impossible to read.

"Hey," he said to the first person he passed, "Do you know where they do the lectures?"

The person, a dark haired guy about his age, stared. So much for being forgettable. "Yeah… uhm, take that exit, right there," he pointed to a set of doors at the end of the hallway, "and you'll see a bigger building, go inside, up the first set of stairs, and it'll be one of the first doors."

"Thanks." He muttered and started off. He hadn't wanted a reaction to his face. He still hadn't look in the mirror since he stitched it up, it was too weird.

The main building was gigantic. Maybe even triple the size of his school. Better looking, too, all wood and warm colours. The lecture room took up a good chunk of the second floor, a massive stage braced by maybe thirty rows of seating. There were only a few students there so far. He sat on the edge of the room, near the back. A trio of girls sat a couple rows above him, gushing that the lecturer today was gonna be a Fourth Seat. _'Can you even believe it?'_ one of them asked her friend, _'Fourth Seat! I'll bet they actually talk to the lieutenant and even the captain like, every day. I can't even imagine getting to walk around the barracks!'_

Ichigo smirked a bit to himself. Back in his time he'd talked to the captains and lieutenants everyday when he was in Soul Society. One of his best friends was a lieutenant. Hell, even last night he'd broken into two divisions. He'd want to see their faces if they heard him referring to a captain by their given name.

Over the next half hour students slowly started filing in, till nearly all the seats were occupied. He was constantly scanning, looking for someone, but he'd never seen any of these people.

It wasn't till the last few minutes of that incredibly boring lecture, going over bland details of squad structure he already knew, that he caught something. Two rows behind him, a shock of spiked red hair. _Renji._ He looked a bit younger, no tattoos and a lower hairline, but otherwise the same. On either side of him was Kira and Hinamori, both baby faced and less visibly tormented than the people he'd met.

Once they were dismissed he tried following them out, he didn't even know if he'd talk to them, he just wanted to see them some more. He paced behind them until while passing a very large window he dropped the little slip of paper with his schedule written on it. But when he did that something happened, and someone on the other side of the window moved too. Ichigo looked over.

Bending down, parallel to him was another orange-haired kid. He frowned, and stared for a few more seconds before getting up, the other guy following in suit. It took him too long to realize that this pane of glass wasn't a window— it was a mirror.

He'd been looking straight at himself, but everything was different. It didn't even seem like a reflection, just some poor kid with an uncomfortably gory, gashed face. So marred it would've been rude to stare at all. It had gotten so much worse. The cuts had swelled into ridges along the stitches, the skin so thick and puffy his face looked like a patchwork of flesh taken from different parts of the body and shoddily sewn together. He looked like a science project.

In another time that could've been upsetting, but now it gave him hope. If he couldn't recognize himself now, who would be able to in forty-something years?

Maybe he should've been thankful. Actually, he definitely should've been.

So, he thought up a little thank-you, and hoped it would travel through the halls, outside, into his dorm room and under that bed:

_Thank you. Thank you so much for your help you stupid fucking hollow._

_Couldn't have done it without you._


	3. The Grapevine

 

The next three days dragged on.

If Renji, Kira, and Hinamori were all still in the Academy then that meant he was at _least_ forty years back.  
Forty years. More than twice as long as he'd been alive for.  
He didn't even want to be here one more day, though.

It hadn't been bad this week, just so uneventful. He'd thought that maybe class would help— doing familiar things, the stuff he was good at.

It didn't work out like that, though.

He'd never considered how learning everything as fast as he had might make dumbing himself down difficult. They'd taught him to run before he could walk and now here he was, not able to show everything but still having to show something. He had no idea what in between looked like.

Zanjutsu had been easy enough, even though his idea of 'light-sparring' had knocked all of his opponents flat on their asses within a matter of seconds. Hakuda had gone about the same. The easiest had been Kidō though, since he hadn't needed to fake not knowing what the hell he was doing. He'd been awful at it at first, but so had Renji.

For now Reiatsu Control was fine, they were only covering the basics, but he worried that keeping himself reeled in would be complicated when they advanced.

Hohō was the worst. First year students were not supposed to know shunpo, and he'd never really learned the basics of Hohō. He'd tried pretending at first, going at the rate of the rest of the class, but by the second day his patience was wavering and the instructor was snapping at him and so he finally just broke and said _forget it,_ then darted to the brink of their outdoor training grounds in a flash of shunpo that left his teacher slack-jawed and the rest of the students gossiping with speculation. He had a feeling he'd be getting moved from that class very soon.

He'd assumed that after the first few days they'd bump him up into a higher class, the Second Year ones maybe, but so far no one had said anything. He just needed more control. Right now he was so concerned with seeming suspicious that he was playing it safe and half-assing too many things. He'd have to step it up. He didn't want to be in these first year classes much longer. Not just because it was a waste of time, either— he hated walking in every morning, bee lining for Renji and his group, and then remembering that he was a stranger and being anything but might ruin _everything._ To make things worse, his face was healing up. It was probably the only time he'd ever wished his injuries would linger, because at this rate it would be safe to remove the stitches soon. His nose was still crooked though, that was probably permanent.

He wished he had a mask, a believable one, or that he'd gotten a new face entirely before he came. Hell, now he'd probably settle for some _hair dye._ If he didn't look like himself he could talk to them, it was just too risky now though. If only he could talk to Urahara— he'd figure something out.

Nevermind the face actually, if Urahara were here he could straighten out this entire mess. Ichigo had no way of getting to him though. Aizen was a captain, which meant Urahara, the Visored, and Yoruichi had all already fled to the world of the living, but it may as well have been another planet. A Senkaimon was needed to travel between worlds, and Urahara, the Kidō Corps and Mayuri were the only people he knew capable of opening one.

He groaned. The logistics of this mess made his head hurt. Here he was, over forty years in the past while Aizen was probably building up his army of Espada and the Sternritter were perched in the shadows awaiting their cue to pounce. No way he could just sit there letting the enemies get stronger, but he didn't have any other option.

His list of ideas was bleak. The only thing he could think of was stealing one of those butterflies that opened the Senkaimon and fleeing, but he didn't even know where those came from. It was irritating— knowing that there was probably a solution but that he wasn't smart enough to reach it.

He heard a knock.

"Uhh… excuse me, um, _Inuzuri-san?"_ a voice squeaked from behind the door, sounding terribly uncertain of the name, "Classes are starting in a few minutes. I wouldn't want you to be late."

It was Mori. A very young looking boy that lived across the hall from Ichigo and had made a few very awkward attempts at conversation over the last few days.

"Thanks." He called back, but lied draped over his bed for a few more moments. He didn't want it to start again, this mundane loop. First thing was Zanjutsu, and then Kidō, which he had debated missing. There would be no skipping though— nothing to draw attention from any of the instructors.

Finally, he rose, grabbing his wooden Zanjutsu pole and preparing for another full ten hours of nothing.

* * *

"Just let me in for a _second._ They'll never even know I was there!"

Tsumara pursed her lips, "Shiba-fukutaichō, as much as your presence is appreciated here I cannot allow you to make unscheduled disruptions to classes, no matter your rank. This Zanjutsu class has some of the finest students we've seen in ages and I wouldn't want so much excitement impeding their progress, especially in such a fast-paced course. Anyway, I'm sure your time is much better spent tending to your division."

She hated him. Always had, always would. A lieutenants badge wouldn't change that. But it didn't matter to him right now.

He wanted to see this class, know what all the fuss was about. An unseated member had mentioned that a friend of her mom or aunt or dog or something was the wife of the Zanjutsu teacher and apparently he said that this was the best bunch the academy had seen in decades. Normally he'd chalk it all up to gossip—this was what, the _second_ week of classes? How could they already know?— but then Ichimaru let it slip that Captain Aizen had already scheduled _two_ visits. If this class really was chock full of unanimously gifted students then why the hell did the Fifth Division get to recruit them all? Also, earlier today he'd eavesdropped on a member of the Eighth Division whispering to her friend, _"My little sister's in the academy right now and she said she saw Lieutenant Shiba's literal doppelgänger running around campus, only his hair was like, blond— or wait, no, actually I think she said orange. Yeah, definitely orange."_

That part was probably gossip, but nonetheless his interest was piqued. He was _going_ to see that class.

He shook his head, sighed— the whole bit. "You're probably right. Wouldn't want to interfere if it's that important."

She gave a taut smile, if you could even call it that, and nodded. "Very good, Shiba-fukutaichō. Will you be on your way?"

 _Ha,_ didn't even want him lingering. "Yeah, in a minute. I just wanted to look for my captain's picture." He pointed to the wall behind them, plastered with a long line of class photos.

She hesitated, opened her mouth like she was about to protest, then shut it and turned to leave, exasperated. "It's one of the first ones. It'll be near the end of the line."

Once she was gone he waited a few more moments— he could see her lurking behind the corner— and then crept to the big wooden doors to the Zanjutsu class. He remembered this too well: bounding through those doors after sleeping in, struggling them open after a long class, all the whispers left in his wake.

He didn't miss it. Not one bit.

* * *

Ichigo sat leaning against the furthest wall, right beside the door. His jaw was clenched so tight he was surprised his teeth hadn't cracked. He'd been tucked away about ten minutes ago, when the instructor had put a hand on Ichigo's shoulder after his third sparring match and said, " _I think you'd better sit out for a while. We'll talk after class."_

They knew. Probably not everything, but they knew something. He was such an idiot, thinking these people who saw hundreds of regular students every day wouldn't notice how shady he was. They were going to ask questions he didn't think he could answer. He was shitty at this— the decisions, the lying, the plans. If this whole entire situation had taught him nothing it was that he was useless unless under someone else's thumb. He was a _pawn._

As much as he may have enjoyed sitting there and churning with quiet self-loathing for the remainder of class, the door crept open beside him and a head poked out. Ichigo did a double take— spiky dark hair, green eyes, that face. Kaien. He hadn't seen him up close before. He assumed there'd be some differences, but other than the fact that Kaien was noticeably older they could've been twins, just with different colouring. It was eerie.

When Kaien noticed him sitting there he brought a finger up motioning to be silent, then looked to the rest of the class. They hadn't noticed, his reiatsu was tampered way down and they were too far away and distracted. Kaien quietly slipped in, shut the door behind him and crouched down beside Ichigo, "How far into class are you?"

For a few seconds Ichigo only stared. At least they didn't sound alike. "We're almost done."

Kaien stared at the class, then back at Ichigo for a while, probably just noticing the busted nose, scratched up face and the fact that he was sitting alone in a dark corner. "Did you do something bad?"

" _No_ ," Ichigo nearly snapped, still hushed, "I don't know. Maybe. I just have to sit here. Hino-sensei said we'll talk after class."

He had a feeling this was weird. Lieutenants probably didn't make habit out of chit-chatting with random students. He also had a feeling he wasn't reacting properly. Probably should've bowed or something.

"What, do lieutenants drop in here to talk to you every day?" Kaien asked, reading his mind. "You're pretty casual."

He blinked, "I just— well, you don't want anyone to see you, right? You snuck in, I just assumed you didn't want me drawing any attention over here."

"Fair enough," Kaien sat down on the floor beside him and huffed, "You can't see anything down here."

Renji and Kira were sparring, they had been for a while now. The rest of the students were circled around them in a thick throng, obscuring any view. The only indication of how the battle was playing out was the echo of wood striking. "It doesn't really matter. Kira probably has this one."

"What?"

"Usually Renj— I mean, Abarai, wins. Just not when the fight goes on really long like this," Ichigo shrugged, "It's more about endurance at this point. You never know though, I think Kira messed up his arm."

Kaien frowned, "So they do this a lot?"

"Nearly every day. In Hakuda, too." It was kind of interesting to watch at first, but they'd faught well over ten times in the last two weeks and by now Ichigo could predict every step and swing. He couldn't blame them though— the couple times they'd sparred with other students it was done in under a minute. Hino used to try and push Ichigo into challenging one of them, but he kept making excuses— that his wrist was stiff, his ankle had rolled, his swollen eye skewed his near-depth perception. Eventually it was dropped, but not before it probably raised a red flag or seven.

"Are they good?"

"I guess. Yeah."

"Have you gotten your class rankings yet?" Asked Kaien, shifting his gaze from the crowd to Ichigo.

"No, Monday."

"Who do you think's gonna be at the top?"

He'd been thinking about that last night. It was either going to be him or Renji. Nobody else stood out; Izuru wasn't strong enough and had a bad arm, and Hinamori too often lost her footing in Zanjutsu and Hakuda. Even though Ichigo could kick Renji's ass blindfolded right now there was no way of anyone knowing that since they'd never been paired up— he took the other students down faster and with ease, but Renji took on tougher opponents and faught a lot more. "Could go either way."

"Between those two?

"Um," Ichigo pondered lying. It seemed to be all he did these days. "No. Either Renji or me."

Kaien raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to say something, but there was a loud thud and a grunt from inside the circle and then Kira's chipper voice, "Good match, Abarai-kun!"

Renji huffed a response and the crowed backed up a bit, offering a view of Kira helping him up.

"Well," Kaien rose from the floor, "Did you call it?"

"Yeah, Ren— Abarai's the one with the red hair and Kira's the blonde." Ichigo said, raising his voice over the sudden mutters of the other students. He stood up beside Kaien, "They might see you now that they're not distracted."

"Wouldn't wanna make a scene," Kaien tsked and opened the door, "I came all the way here and didn't even see one damn hit."

"It's better at the beginning."

Kaien sighed, already half out the door, "Well, good talking to you…"

He trailed off, waiting for Ichigo to proffer up his name. He didn't like saying it though, it sounded like a lie coming from his lips and he worried it was obvious. So he just nodded, "Yeah, nice meeting you too, Shiba-fukutaichō."

Ichigo could tell that hadn't been the response Kaien had wanted, but he didn't have the time to wait for a better one so he left without another word.

That hadn't been so bad. He hadn't spoken to anyone he knew since he'd arrived, and even though he didn't really _know_ Kaien he knew of him and that counted. Familiarity— he missed it.

Now Hino was lecturing the mass, something he did after every match and at the beginning and end of class. Every head was turned to face him but one. Hinamori. She looked disturbed almost, and was staring at Ichigo like he'd just grown ten feet tall and sprouted horns— or, like he'd just been casually conversing with a lieutenant. Her eyes kept shifting, the door to Ichigo, Ichigo to the door. His stomach tightened and he mentally begged her not to remember this or try talking to him after class. They held eye contact, and for a terrible moment he was sure she'd come over asking questions, friends in tow, but Hino's booming voice announced that they were free to go. Ichigo spun on his heel, swung open the door and started down the hallway, imagining her tapping on his shoulder or calling out his fake name with every step. Soon enough though the other classes were dismissed, flooding hallway with with students. A warm feeling of invisibility settled over him. She wouldn't be able to spot him now. He was just another student, shoulder-to-shoulder with more people exactly like him. Not someone who captains and lieutenants spoke to, not someone who knew the Royal Guard, not someone who was currently weighing his options in saving the world.

Even though he knew it wasn't true it almost felt good.

* * *

Momo tapped on Kira's shoulder and poked Renji's bicep as they left class, "Did you two see that?"

Renji kept walking, "See what?"

"Shiba-fukutaichō was there! He was at the very back of the class talking to the guy with the stitches, he left literally _right_ before we were dismissed."

They both turned to look at her like she was insane. Renji scoffed, _"Sur_ _e."_

"I'm serious! They were talking! And I think they knew each other, because when Shiba-fukutaichō left that guy didn't even bow or anything, he just waved him off."

"We woulda known if a lieutenant was here."

"He _was!_ "

Kira shook his head, "Hinamori-kun, why would he come here and just stand in the back the whole time?"

"I don't know. Maybe… maybe he was just here to see that guy."

"The one with the cuts?" Renji asked, "Why'd he come visit a student?"

Momo thought about it for a moment. There was something familiar about that guy— she forgot his name— that she hadn't quite been able to place until now. "I think they're related!"

"Hinamori-kun," Kira began before she cut him off.

"It makes sense! Why else would he be able to just enter the Academy after the year's already began? One of my friends back in Junrinan applied eight weeks ago and still wasn't admitted! And they look a _lot_ alike. Other than the hair color and the eye color. And the cuts. And the nose. And—"

"So basically other than everything." Renji snorted.

"He's a _peasant,"_ said Kira.

Momo glared at him, cheeks flushing, "Fine, maybe I'm wrong about them being related, but Shiba-fukitaicho was _there!"_

"Okay, okay— calm down, Hinamori-kun," Kira said, "we believe you."

She huffed, "No, you don't."

They walked the rest of the way back to the dorms in silence. Kira and Momo had Hohō next and needed to change, Renji had Reiatsu Manipulation and had to grab his notebooks. Those two were the only classes they didn't all have together. Before they split off Momo looked to Kira, who'd been frowning and holding his shoulder for the last few moments, "What's wrong, Kira-kun?"

He blinked hard as if being broken from a trance, "Don't worry, it's probably nothing."

"Is your shoulder bugging you again?"

"I'm sure it's fine."

She shook her head, "You need to get it checked out, it's never going to get better if there's something seriously wrong and you just leave it."

A few days ago Renji and Kira had been sparring with their Zanjutsu poles after class when Renji struck him hard on the left shoulder. There'd been a _crack_ and a shooting pain, but he hadn't wanted to go to the medical office— a real shinigami officer never would, not unless they were missing an arm or had a hole the size of a melon blown through their chest. He thought it'd get better, but movement had gotten stiff and the bruising worsened. On the bright side though, it'd taught him to lean on his evasiveness and strategy instead of brute strength. But he missed having all operational limbs.

He went back an forth for a while until he sighed, "I'll go at lunch, before Hakuda. Sorry, Renji-kun, but you might have to find a new sparring buddy for today."

Hinamori's eyes lit up and she turned to Renji, "You should challenge that guy— Shiba-fukutaichō's friend!"

Renji groaned, "They _aren't_ friends. And his stamina sucks, he's always out after one fight."

"Then let's get there early," she persisted, "I think he'd be a good match for you!"

She was just trying to get him off Kira's back, he knew that. But that guy, the one with all the scrapes who definitely hadn't been talking to Shiba-fukitaicho and didn't look a thing like him, had had some good matches, shitty endurance aside. Maybe it wasn't a bad idea.

"We'll see."


	4. Snap

__

Something bad happened.

Not everyone-is-dead kind of bad, but probably still not good in the grand scheme of things.

He'd lost his schedule and shown up a few minutes late to Hakuda today, only for a familiar little voice to call out the moment he walked in, _"Hi!"_

Himamori. He'd been so careful to avoid her all day but had gotten distracted in his haste.

He should've pretended he didn't hear her, walked over to another student or asked the teacher for something. But, like a dumbass, he turned around and made direct eye contact with her and Renji. None of them said a word until she nudged Renji's ribs with her elbow. He cleared his throat, "You got a sparring partner for today?"

And again, like a dumbass, Ichigo just stared at them like a deer caught in headlights. Once he realized how awkward the silence had become he mentally sifted through every excuse. There were a lot of things he could have said— that his eye was still bugging him, that he'd already promised someone else, that the teacher had urged him to sit today out. But he didn't say any of those things, instead his surprise morphed into dumb compliance and he just shook his head.

Renji grinned, "I'll ask Sasaki-sensei if we can go first."

And Sasaki said yes, of _course._

They went into the middle and for the next five minutes or so Ichigo was left warding off Renji's weak kicks and jabs until he decided that they'd been at it for long enough to look like a fair, even fight and delivered a swift hit to Renji's ribs.

Turns out the hit had been a bit too hard.

Just a bit.

Renji doubled over at the initial impact and remained on the ground gasping at first. Prideful and dumb he eventually got up as Sasaki called the match but his breathing was ragged and he was badly hunched to one side. To his credit he held in there for quite a while, dragged himself over to the sidelines and watched the next two matches until Hinamori shuffled over to Sasaki and said something Ichigo couldn't entirely make out, but definitely included the words, _"worried, breathing, medic"_. Right after that she and Renji quietly left, him clutching his side and bent over, and about fifteen minutes later she returned alone and made her way to Sasaki and handed him a small slip of paper. Ichigo inched over to better hear them,

_"What did they say?"_

_"He has two fractured ribs."_

_"How was he when you left him?"_

Hinamori opened her mouth to speak but stopped when she looked over and saw Ichigo standing right there. She noticeably bristled. _"He was still having trouble breathing."_

Sasaki nodded, then once Hinamori left he looked Ichigo dead in the eye and he _smiled_. Like Ichimaru, or Zaraki, or any other actual psychopath.

This whole ordeal, it'd all been so ugly. Now he was the guy who'd snapped Renji's ribs with ease. Now he'd be pestered for battles all year. Now he was the one to watch. To top it all off, about an hour or so later Ichigo realized that he could've just dove and let Renji win, because even if he hadn't dolled out fractures any victory he took would've been met with request after request for a match. Nobody would've remembered one small loss.

This though, how the hell were they supposed to forget _this?_

* * *

"He _what?_ "

"He just broke them!" Exclaimed Hinamori-kun, shrill and wide-eyed. "With one punch!"

Izuru stared at her incrediously. Abarai-kun was tough, tougher than him— how could a single hit have done that? "Is he okay now?"

"Not really," she chewed her lip. "He was having trouble breathing and couldn't really stand up straight." They were in Izuru's dorm, him seated on the floor and her pacing all about. She'd shakily knocked at the door after class and marched right in once he answered, the entire story spilling out before she had even greeted him. He was sure she felt guilty— she was the one who'd pushed that match, after all. "Is your shoulder all better?" She asked. "I'm sorry, I forgot all about it."

He shook his head, "It's fine. You've had a big day."

"Did they say what was wrong?"

"It was nothing, just a tear in the tendon."

"That doesn't sound like nothing!" She slumped down to the ground with a defeated sigh. "Is this what we're in store for? Just a bunch of tears and breaks, all the time?"

"Hinamori-kun, you're making too big a deal out of all this," he tried smiling at her, but she kept her gaze downcast. "It's not like he got an arm chopped off or anything."

* * *

Ichigo lied in bed staring at his ceiling late into the night.

Three goddamn people had asked about his fight with Renji already. One the minute he walked onto the Hohō field, one after class and then another as he loitered around the halls.

This whole Academy thing was a terrible idea, that much was obvious now. What was his endgame, to ride this thing out and become a captain? The aim of the game was to not create a ripple, and that would kick up a tsunami.

Right now his best idea was to find and steal one of those stupid Hell Butterflies and use it to open the Senkaimon— which would probably wake up all of Soul Society and land him in Muken.

 _You can fix this in the morning,_ he told himself, even though he knew it wasn't true. There was nothing to figure out. Staying here was damaging, but there was nowhere to leave to. He was trapped.

* * *

_"Oi, King!"_

The cold air partially woke him up, but it was that voice that brought him to his feet. _Not again._

Everything was pitch black and the sound bounced all about— he felt senseless.

"What the hell do you want?" He growled.

_"I told ya King, we're working together now."_

"No," Ichigo hissed, his entire body tensing up. "I don't want anymore of your help."

The hollow cackled, _"Well, ya need it. Geez, after doin' that to Renji. How hard of a hit did ya think he needed?"_

"It wasn't like I tried!" Heat rose to Ichigo's face and his hands rolled into fists. "I barely even touched him!"

_"I call bullshit, King. We both know what it takes to break a shinigami's bones, even a young one. It ain't something that just happens."_

"Are you accusing me of something?"

There was a drawn out pause, then that voice again, coming in from every direction. _"Nah, yer dumb enough for it to've been an accident."_

Ichigo huffed. "Then why am I here?"

 _"I already told ya— f_ _or my help."_

* * *

Ichigo shot out of bed, face still numb from the cold and badly hoping that it hadn't been a dream. He reached under the futon and grabbed Zangetsu. Armed with the hollow's words in mind he climbed out his window and shunpoed to the First Division.

_I'll bet they got the most bugs planted there._

He stopped atop the roof of the Head Captains office. He needed to get inside. It was technically easy, those pane-less gaping windows taking up the entire wall, completely unprotected. Something held him back though— the fact that this was a bad idea. He didn't know if there were guards or surveillance, he'd tampered his reiatsu down but what if someone still somehow felt him? He wanted to go back, but the hollow's voice again rang through:

_Well King, what else are ya gonna do?_

What else.

He dropped down from the roof, onto the thin deck lining the room. He was wrong, there wasn't so much of a window as an entire wall missing. A stray animal could wander in without much effort. At first he wondered why the hell they'd design the Head Captain's office to be one of the least secure buildings in Seireitei, but then he realized that they probably hadn't counted on anyone being dumb enough to break in.

Ichigo looked around— it was so quiet and bare, the Head Captain's desk illuminated by the moonlight as the rest of the stark room sat in shadow. He drew in a breath, closed his eyes, and crossed the threshold between the balcony and the office, expecting Onmitsukidō members to descend from every corner. Nothing came though, his entrance was as unceremonious as his departure from his own room.

_Ya know they're watching_

He marched over to the Head Captain's desk, feeling completely ridiculous. God, this would never work. Why had advise from his inner hollow seemed sound? If only there was another plan. He took a deep breath in and closed his eyes,

"I know you're watching. I know you have this place bugged," he shakily mumbled, picturing those imaginary Onmitsukidō guards snickering in the shadows. A sizable chunk of him thought that the hollow was just screwing with him, that he thought making Ichigo break into the First Division and plead with thin air was a funny thing to do. Goddammit. "I also know that you're planning an invasion. And I know who you are. Bazz-B, and, um…"

Who were the other ones that went up to the Royal Realm? Those two girls, the blonde and the one with the black hair, he barely even remembered their faces. And then there were those others, the throng who'd attacked him. Why couldn't they have taken a page from the Espada's and spat out their names, ranks, and entire life stories?

"The girl, the blonde with the lightening powers. And the other blonde, who looks like a kid and has that mouth thing. And the girl with the pink hair, the really strong one who's arm could get all big. Also the one with the black hair, who could reattach limbs. And the guy with the 'X' scar over his eye, the one with the huge sniper riffle. There was also an older guy, with a moustache and two hand guns. And the one with the little sunglasses who makes jails, and…" A name rang through, "Oh yeah! Ebern! Ebern, um, Asgiar— Asguiar or something."

"I don't really remember your names, at all, but I _know_ you. You're Quincy. Sternritter. Yhwach is your leader, and Haschwalth. I know you're planning an invasion of Soul Society and Hueco Mundo. But if you go through with it Yhwach going to kill you. He's going to use this thing— I forget what it's called, to kill all of you to revive his private guard— like Askin, and the sniper one."

Ichigo fidgeted with the hilt of Zangetsu and paced back a few steps. He was tired and this idea didn't make any sense. He walked back to the balcony then turned around before he leapt off,

"I'm not here just to warn you though," he told absolutely no one. "I think I can help."

* * *

That morning Ichigo awoke cringing. He'd broken into the Head Captain's office to talk to the walls under the 'advise' of what was probably a dream.

God, he was an idiot.

* * *

_Five years, eleven months and sixteen days._

Rukia sighed. This place wasn't for her. She weaved around the bodies of the crowded hall, head down and shoulders stiff. She could see it, the other students could see it, the instructors could see it— everybody could see it but Renji. He said she just needed to adjust and that it was the same for everyone, but none of that was true. She was a breathing non sequitur, misplaced and confusing. These next few months— or maybe even years— were anyone's guess. She couldn't see herself staying here, but going back home was hardly an option. It just felt so—

Something smacked her in the back of the head. She spun around.

"What the hell, Renji?!" She hissed. "That hurt!"

He scoffed, standing tall with his arms crossed, "Yeah right. I broke two ribs yesterday and didn't whine like that!"

Oh, he was probably just  _itching_ to get that one out. "How'd you manage that?"

"A match in Hakuda." He said with a little shrug, so purposefully nonchalant.

People were giving them dirty looks now for standing in the middle of the bustling hall. "What, now you guys in Class One are sparring with lead pipes?"

He huffed. "Hakuda's hand-to-hand, idiot."

"I _know_ Renji. It was a joke," She looked him up and down. Not a scratch. "What happened then?"

He leaned against the wall. "Got punched."

"By _what?_ "

"Some guy in our class. The one with the orange hair and all those scratches on his face and the busted nose, I dunno if you've seen him. He's pretty hard to miss." Rukia shook her head. "It felt like getting shot with a damn cannon."

"Well that isn't melodramatic at all," She muttered. "So is Kira-san out? You found a new scrapping buddy?"

"Nah," Renji shook his head. "I'll need some time."

Rukia frowned. "Some time for what?"

"Time to get stronger," an almost malevolent grin tugged at the corners of his lips. "And the minute I do, I'm going in for a rematch."


	5. In the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JANUARY 9, 2017:  
> I've been awful with updates-- Sorry! I'm going through and slowly editing bits and pieces and I promise that chapter 6 will be posted by the end of Febuary!

**_ PART I _ **

* * *

The Academy was mostly dead this weekend, everyone who lived in the Seiretei or the closer districts of Rukongai having fled home.

Rukia and Renji had stayed though. He could feel Renji loitering around the training grounds, Rukia occasionally joining him. 

He wouldn't leave his room, he'd decided that on Friday. Running into someone at the training grounds or in the library seemed inevitable. He was restless though, he even spent the better part of yesterday contemplating sneaking in to the divisions, just for some light sleuthing. That was a bad idea though, and right after he thought it he promised himself he'd stay away from the Gotei 13 from then on.

_Stay away from everybody._

He didn't know how much longer this was going to work.

* * *

"Are you joking or just an idiot?" Rukia asked, staring at the wooden sword in Renji's death-grip.

"I'll bet he isn't even doing anything!" Renji put a hand on her shoulder, trying to guide her out of the doorway. She'd seen him struggling up the stairs to the East dorms— the absolute wrong direction from his own quarters— and known what he was going to do. She wasn't having her best friend get snapped in half today.

"I guess that answers my question." She sighed, keeping her feet planted, "And the issue isn't his 'busyness', it's the fact that your ribs were just _fused_ back together two days ago! What ever happened to waiting and getting stronger and then challenging him?"

"I _have_ gotten stronger."

"From one day of training?"

"Whatever," he grumbled, still edging to get past her, "It was an intense day. And I have to do it now, everyone's gonna be back tomorrow."

"And what, you don't want an audience for when he kicks your ass?"

"No, because he isn't going to!" Heat rose to his cheeks. "If I wait the training grounds might get busy and—"

"Just wait, Renji," she gently pivoted him in the opposite direction. "Wait till you _know_ you're strong enough. It won't be long. Let's just go grab something to eat."

He paused, looking from her to the door, the door to her, then down to his sword, "I guess I'm a bit hungry."

With a little grin she lead him away, walking quick in case he changed his mind. "But if you do rematch him soon, be careful." She muttered once they got outside,  
"That guy sounds insane."

* * *

Hey!" Kaien called. "Ichimaru!"

He turned, eyes slated shut, lips pulled into that grin. "Shiba-fukutaicho."

And just like that, Kaien wanted to turn back around. He probably should've found someone else. "Do you have that report from the meeting yesterday? I had to do patrol out in Sabitsura and my captain's been a write off all week."

He and Captain Ukitake had been at the Eighth division when he realized he still needed to grab the notes, and since the Seventh, Eighth, Ninth and Tenth divisions were all still lieutenant-less and Byakuya was such an ass, it didn't leave much of an option.

"Yeah, I noticed ya weren't there," even the way Ichimaru spoke, his gestures— he was off-putting to the core. "We didn't look at much, though."

"Alright," he was about to walk away, not even bother pushing, when he remembered something. "Hey, do you know when the Academy rankings come out?"

"For the sixth years?"

"Nah," he shook his head. "First years."

Ichimaru raised his eyebrows, "Ah, starting early? Aizen-taicho's like that too. Even signed the division up to supervise their first mission to the living world."

"So you know when they're being posted?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head, "They're first years. Does it really matter?" That smile crept back. "But, nah. I got no idea."

_Liar._

* * *

Ichigo was more than glad to go to bed.

He'd done nothing all day, other than cautiously creeping out to grab his breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Plus, rankings were out tomorrow, which he was _almost_ excited about.

It couldn't make him forget that he'd have to see everyone again, though. There was a pit in his stomach to remind him of that.

Homesickness had come in waves today, now that he had nothing to do but sit and think. Every once and a while it'd crash down on him hard— flood him with images of Inoue and Chad and Karin and Yuzu and his dad, make him miss his bed and his shower and stirrup a kind of restlessness that made him want to break his lamp.

He missed them. At first he thought that maybe it'd be enough to just have Rukia and Renji here, but they weren't the people he'd known. They didn't even like him now.

What if he was stuck here all forty years? It was a thought he'd had to fend off since he arrived, pushing himself back every time he was about to slip into the abyss of logistics and what-ifs. 

Because if he was trapped here, forever and ever amongst the friends that weren't and familiar strangers, he didn't know what he'd do.

* * *

By now he knew what the cold air meant.

So, when he was awoken by a frigid gust he started to rise, ready for whatever the hollow had in store for him this time. But, the moment he tried to rise his neck hit something hard and cold, forcing him to stay lying on his futon.

"Stay. Down." Demanded an unfamiliar voice, high and feminine.

He stiffened. He was still in his room, but someone else was with him. No, more than one person. He could feel them. He squinted in the dark, but all he could make out were vague silhouettes. "Who are you?" He asked, trying again to sit up but whatever was at his neck forcing his head back down to the pillow.

There was silence. He reached up to touch what was pressed to his jugular, only taking him a second before he recognized the sheath: _Zangetsu_. These people weren't even using their own weapons.

His throat tightened— would they _need_ weapons? Even worse, what if they _did_ have their own?

The figure holding Zangetsu knelt down beside him, but didn't relinquish her grip. Up this close, with the moonlight thinly beaming in, he could almost distinguish her features. He didn't think he knew her.

She stared at him, big blue eyes and bright white teeth gleaming even in the dark,  
"Who do you think?"


	6. Dead Girl

_**PART II** _

* * *

 

The figure holding Zangetsu knelt down beside him, but didn't relinquish her grip. Up this close, with the moonlight thinly beaming in, he could almost distinguish her features. He didn't think he knew her.

She stared at him, big blue eyes and bright white teeth gleaming even in the dark,  
"Who do you think?"

He blinked, squinted. His eyes strained beyond the girl crouched in front of him and to the shadows behind her, but it was too dark to decipher anything more than vague heights. "I don't— I'm not sure."

Her head whipped back. "Is someone going to turn on the fucking light?"

There was a huff, then the chirr of floorboards as someone approached and bent down to feel for the lamp switch, then a click and the room was cast in a low yellow light. There were six. It took a few seconds for the faces to click, for him to get it.

Those girls who'd attacked him, and Bazz-B. They looked entirely the same.

"Do you know who we are?" Except for her. He had no idea who the hell she was. 

He swallowed hard, felt the weight of Zangetsu at his throat and his pulse thumping beneath it. A lot of things could happen. There was a scythe of all things resting against his closet door, but other than that it didn't look like they had weapons. "I know who they are."

She didn't say anything, just stared and kept the pressure on the sword. "How?"

He hesitated— what was there to say? 'I'm from the future and watched you try to cull my friends'? This girl had his blade, and he was certainly not in a position to fight off half a dozen Sternritter with his bare hands. As he racked his brain for a decent lie she pushed the hilt deeper into his windpipe. He rasped, "I'm not from here,"

"Then where are you from?"

"A different—" he wheezed and she pulled back just a bit. He'd never been great at thinking on his feet. "A different time."

She frowned, "What the hell does that mean?"

Again he took too long trying to weave together something coherant, and again she choked him. His windpipe shrunk and pressure grew at his temples.  "The fut— the future,"

The girl with the pink hair standing at his feet stared blankly, "You're a time traveller." She said, maybe asked.

He gave a small nod.

"This is bullshit," the taller blonde—  the one who had electricuted everyone—  said, shaking her head and walking over to slump down on the other bed. 

The little one shook her head. "Killer call risking our lives for this, Bambi."

“Pretty sure I can’t recall any better ideas from you.”

“Fuck it,” Bazz-B said before the kid had time to respond. “Let’s just torch him in his bed.”

“The one holding Zangetsu shook her head. “This is why I didn't want you here."

“What?”

“Think about the smoke. Shinigami would be crawling all over this place in minutes.”

The kid sighed and wiped her eyes. “Slit his throat then. Suffocate him. Whatever, just do something. I'm tired.”

Girl Holding Zangetsu gave him a pensive look, and in one fluid motion pulled Zangetsu loose, dropping the sheath to the floor and needling the tip of the blade into Ichigo's jugular. "Does anyone else here know about us?"

 "No," he said, before realizing what a better idea it would have been to have said yes.

"Good," The girl stared at him with bored eyes, "I'm so done with this." She drew her elbow back, then swiftly and unceremoniously jabbed Zangetsu through the middle of Ichigo's windpipe.

And he let her. 

He let her slice him the exact same way Yhwach had done weeks earlier. He felt his own blade carve into his own flesh and muscle and didn't move an inch. He just closed his eyes and allowed it to take over, like it was something innate. His veins ignited and the area he should have been hemorrhaging from began to pulse. He heard the metallic ting of Zangetsu clattering to the floor and a voice hiss, 

_"What. The. Fuck."_

* * *

The sword slipped straight from Bambietta's flimsy grip and crashed to the floor. 

He'd been supposed to bleed, supposed to  _die_ , but instead when she pulled the sword from the newly shaped slash in his throat it was empty— bloodless, like hacking into a jellyfish. Then it started to happen— little filaments of cobalt darting from the barren rent, blooming beneath his skin until his throat was webbed in blue lines. Blue  _veins._

"What. The. Fuck," she said, throat tight. Her heart thumped heavily in her ears as she watched the boy sit up and rub at his throat, fingers flitting over skin that should have been oozing. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. That wasn't something a Shinigami was supposed to be able to do. Blut was a  _Quincy_  technique, special and specific to them. It wasn't meant for anyone outside of Wandenreich City, nonetheless someone running around the Shinigami Academy with a fucking Zanpaktou is his room. "What was that?'

He cleared his throat. "Blut Vene."

No  _shit._  When it became clear he had absolutely no intention of elaborating Meni asked, "You're a Quincy, then?"

"My mom was," he said, reaching over his futon to grab the sword at Bambietta's feet, then the scabbard. She knew she should have stopped him— stomped his wrist or something— but she didn't want to move. He sheathed the blade and set it at his side. "She was a pure-blooded Quincy."

"But you aren't?" Meni's voice was soft, but wholly audible in the stark silence. Suddenly Bambietta remembered how many people were beyond these thin walls.

"No. My dad was a Shinigami," he opened his mouth to say something else but stopped himself, looked down at his hands for a few moments, and then added, "A captain."

"Which one?" Asked Meni, even though Bambietta was sure she didn't know any of their names. 

"I don't think he's in service yet."

"Because you're from the future." Lil deadpanned.

 _"Yes,"_  he was starting to sound annoyed, like this was all so basic and they were the dumbasses for not being able to understand what was happening. "I know what you're planning, I know about Huec—"

"Yeah, you've mentioned that," Lil cut him off, still so unimpressed. "Why did you do all of this?"

"All of what?"

"Get us here."

He ran a hand through that awful mop of hair. "I thought you could help."

Bambietta stared at him. God, he was an ugly one. His nose was like a rock, notched and craggy and befittingly gristly compared to the rest of his face with those fleshy red scars and that  _stitching._  It looked like he'd gotten into a fight with a meat cleaver and lost, with coarse black thread the only thing holding his face together. Underneath all that heavy marring though he was still baby-faced. Too young to know what to do with whatever  _'information'_  he thought he had. There were a million and one better things he could've done, things that anyone with an ounce of experience and any semblance of good judgment would have thought of. He reminded her of the Soldats who happily followed her back into her room, the ones that were just a bit too dumb to live. It didn't matter that he knew Blut or said weird things about the future— he was some fucking idiot Academy student who'd be cannon fodder the exact second he graduated. She didn't give enough of a shit to try and kill him again. What was the point?

"Let's go," she said and nodded at the ajar window. 

"And just leave him?" Asked Lil.

"Yeah."

"Seriously?" Candi asked too loudly. It was a blessing she'd been so silent this entire time.

"Silbern's going to be waking up soon. I'm leaving, but you can stay here a bit longer and then come and get decapitated by Haschwalth when he realizes where you were."

Candi's mouth gaped and closed like a gold fish, before she huffed and stomped over to the window. She swung one leg through the frame, then the other and pushed herself out. Lil followed, then Gigi, Meni and finally Bazz-B, who stared at Bambietta for far too long before climbing out with the rest. Once they were all gone she turned to the boy, "Leave us alone." She thought about sprinkling in a threat but that would have felt redundant when she'd slipped a blade into his throat just moments ago. She made her way to the window, wriggled herself out and fell to the muddy ground two floors beneath. The six of them stood in a sloppy circle, breath white from the cold.

For an uncomfortably long time they stood in silence, before Candi groaned. “I swear, if this wrecks my boots,”  

"Oh, it will," Bambietta said, looking down to her own smeared shoes. Even in the frigid night her cheeks felt hot. She wasn't used to feeling this uneasy. She skimmed over the interaction again, wanting to find some proof that this could be forgotten when something he'd said began to gnaw at her. "He didn't know who I was."

Candi looked over, "What?"

"He know who all of you were when I asked, but not me." If she'd heard him wrong or misremembered the moment someone would have told her, but instead they lapsed back into silence, trying to piece together an explanation.

"You've had seconds at dinner every night this week," said Lil.

"So?" 

She shrugged, "Maybe  _'future'_  Bambi is unrecognizably fucking fat."

Before Bambietta could start on what a nasty little hypocrite Lil was Gigi cut in,

"Maybe future Bambi is _dead."_

* * *

 

Ichigo didn't need a moment to reorientate himself. The second they were gone he silently got up, closed and locked the window, then plodded into the bathroom to check his throat. He couldn't find the place she'd cut him. His veins were back to their normal shade already, too. It looked like nothing had happened. He went back to his futon and crawled under the covers. Outside the sky was black. He looked to the clock on his nightstand— _4:10._  He shut his eyes and tried going over everything they'd said. It was surreal, like those nightmares of ghosts he used to have as a kid that he now realized probably weren't nightmares.

The Quincy weren't going to help him. It'd been a terrible idea, but at least they hadn't killed him, and at least his Blut was sharpening. They were going to watch him now though, keep track of who he was talking to and what he was saying. For now he'd have to have faith they'd covered their tracks and erased any evidence of his plea, and that none of the other Sternritter would come looking for him.

He was going to quit listening to Zangetsu. He'd been so desperate for some sort of ally he'd been weak, let that goddamn hollow steer him in dangerous directions. Not anymore. He would be careful from here on out.

For the next few hours he'd laid in silence, mulling everything over yet again and yet again never reaching a solution or even beginning to form a vague plan. Once the sun began to rise he washed up, put on his uniform, gathered his supplies and schdeule and was nearly headed out the door before he realized how badly he didn't want to be early for class. So, he sat peering out his little window, watching the academy grounds come alive and counting down the moments till he had to leave.

* * *

  

Momo sat at her desk, watching Renji out of the corner of her eye. He stood out in stark contrast compaired to the other students, with their sleep-heavy eyes and slouched shoulders. It was Monday, an hour into their first class of the day and yet he looked like he was ready to vibrate out of his skin. His knee bounced, his eyes darted— had any of the other kids been more awake they'd probably have been wondering what was wrong with him. 

The class rankings had been posted, not that anyone else knew that. Ranking's were posted during the first block of the day, and students were supposed to gather to view them once class let out, but Renji had insisted on loitering behind until they were posted. Momo hadn't wanted to stay and wait— she didn't _like_ getting in trouble, but she also didn't like leaving her friends behind. Kira hadn't much wanted to stay either, but he had. Their loyalty hadn't done them any favors though— they'd been twenty minutes late for class and recieved detention. But they'd seen the results.

She wished they hadn't, though. She wished the Academy would've waited to post them at the end of the day on a Friday, or something like that. She wasn't going to be able to focus on the rest of this lecture at all, and Renji would probably be in a sour mood all week. The rankings hadn't been bad per se, most students would have been _thrilled_ to be where they were but... well, they weren't most students.

Kira had edged her out for top spot in their Kidō class, but Renji had done better than Kira in Zanjutsu and Hakuda, and only Kira placed within the top five for Hohō. The other day she'd overheard a couple of fourth year talking about how it was impossible to tell anything from the early first year rankings, and how no one ever did as good as they thought they would do and there was almost never a front runner at that point. She wanted to believe that, she really did, except that there was very, very clear front runner— Inuzuri, his name had been scrawled in big, bold letters at the very top of the Hakuda, Hohō, and Zanjutsu rankings.

_**Inuzuri** _

_**Inuzuri** _

_**Inuzuri** _

It didn't make sense. Last week they'd barely noticed him and now he was at the top of _three_ classes. They only got rankings for four classes! For a tense moment as they'd been looking at the rankings Momo had worried he'd knock her down the list for Kidō, but she couldn't find his name within the top twenty. No one could be perfect at everything. It wasn't like she was resentful that someone else had done so well— Momo had never let envy embitter her— she just couldn't understand it. He sparred half the amount that Renji and Kira did and he always wore out so easily, usually sitting out the rest of class after a single match. She'd also never seen him practice after class, or make any effort whatsoever to learn new techniques. It didn't seem fair, at all. Renji's ribs had broken, Kira's shoulder had been mangled, and she'd burned herself half a dozen times trying to master new Kidō incantations outside of class. Under her uniform she was so bruise dappled and scraped up that when she'd gone home to visit last weekend she couldn't take off a single layer of clothing for fear of giving her granny a heart attack, and she had a feeling Renji and Kira were worse for wear. She was pretty sure Inuzuri hadn't so much as suffered a hangnail while training. She was pouring her heart and soul into this, and—

Kira broke her from her thoughts, reaching over her desk to grab her hand. "Stop it,"

She frowned, "Stop what?"

"Tapping your nails on your desk. You've been getting dirty looks for a full minute now."

She looked around. A few students were glaring, and the rest were hunched over a sheet of paper intently. How long had she zoned out for? "Are we doing a test?" 

Kira shook his head, then pulled an extra sheet of paper from his book and laid it on her desk. "We're taking notes."

She was going to ask what they were taking notes of but the girl sitting infront of her turned around to shoot Momo a look that could kill. For a moment she sat there still, before creening her neck to try and get a look at what the people around her were writting without luck. What if this was important, if she would need it later? She was never like this— she usually paid attention.

Those rankings weren't going to effect her. She wouldn't let herself think about them for the rest of the day. Those fourth years said these things didn't matter and they were right. It didn't matter at all. If anything the rankings were a good thing, because now she was going to push herself harder, if that was even possible.

But an ugly little voice in the back of her mind kept replayed something a woman named Tsumara had coldly told her during entrance exams:

  _"Not all shinigami are destined for greatness. For each of the thirteen captains and leiutenants there are two hundred titleless squad members, many of whom started in Class One."_

* * *

 

First in Kidō, second in Hakuda, fourth in Hohō, and third in Zanjutsu— that one stung a bit. 

Kira wasn't as upset about the rankings as Renji and Hinamori. They were headed to the last class of the day now and Renji was still brooding and Hinamori was overcompensating, too eagerly volenteering in Hohō and Hakuda demonstrations and avoiding all chat of the rankings with a chipper determination. It didn't help how many people had come up to congratulate the three on how well they'd all done. Each bit of praise added a nail to the coffin, making Renji a little angrier and interrupting Hinamori's pointed denial. Kira thought their reactions were much more dissapointing than the rankings, though. Hinamori had been almost humble to a fault at the beggining of the year, chalking up her success in Kidō to sheer luck and delighting in every compliment thrown her way, and Renji had been so eager for a challenge and any chance to prove himself.

They'd only been in class a few weeks now— that's all it'd taken to make them this arrogant. Maybe it was a Rukongai thing. 

They were amongst the first to enter the dojo, and whatever well-wishers would have come up were warded off by Renji's scowl. Kira gave what felt like the most imperceptible shake of his head, but Renji caught it. "It's not like you would get it," he sneered.

"Stop it. I don't want to think about this anymore, or talk about it. Those rankings didn't mean anything, and we didn't do _terribly_ ," Hinamori said, sounding utterly unconvinced. For a moment she faltered, hung her head and looked genuinely defeated, and then opened her mouth to say something more but before she could the door to the dojo swung open and a shock of orange hair stood in the frame. _I_ _nuzuri_. The three stared at him, but he seemed to be making a point of not looking in their direction. Kira expected the few other students in the class to go flocking to congratulate him, but they didn't. The second the other students saw who it was they quickly averted their gaze, disregarding him as tenaciously as he ignored Kira, Renji and Hinamori. Come to think of it, Kira had never seen Inuzuri interact with anyone outside of class— or in class, for that matter. Did he have any friends? Before Kira had entered the Academy he'd worried it would be exclusive and the people reserved, but he hadn't found that at all— it was such a social environment, you'd have to actively try if you didn't want to forge a single relationship. While he didn't know Inuzuri well enough to pass any sound judgements and to his credit had never seen him act cruelly, Kira could see why the other students weren't exactly itching to interact with him. There was something just...  _off_ about him. Something tangible but indescribable.

All three stood still, staring as he made his way to the middle of the room until Hinamori broke away and started toward him. Before Renji or Kira could ask her what she was doing she was standing behind him, "Um, Inuzuri-san?" She asked, standing tall and speaking loudly enough for the other few students to turn and stare.

He turned around to face her, and the very moment he took in her face Kira saw his shoulders tense and his jaw tighten. That was about the exact opposite effect that Hinamori's presence usually had. "Hi," he said softly, eyes shifting back and forth through the room and shoulders slouching once he saw that everyone was watching them.

"I just wanted to congratulate you on your rankings," Hinamori said, offering up a little smile that looked so much more forced than usual.

His brow furrowed, "My what?"

"Your rankings," she said again— then added when he still looked mystified, "Your rankings for class."

It clicked. "Oh," he frowned, "those came out today?"

Kira was surprised Renji didn't say something nasty— no, he was surprised that none of the dozen students said anything nasty. Of course Inuzuri knew the rankings had come out today, there was no way not to. But Hinamori— charitable, never-snide Hinamori— seemed more confused than irked. "They were posted this morning," she said patiently, not a hint of sharpness. "You did really well."

Inuzuri didn't look pleased or proud or smug— he didn't look anything. He just have Hinamori a little nod, eyes bleak and distant, "Well, thank you."

"You're welcome," she said, then awkwardly smoothed down her uniform and started back toward Kira and Renji. 

The class began to fill over the next fifteen or so minutes, and by the time Sasaki-sensei swung open the door everyone was broken off into groups chattering. As he entered the class went mute, every gaze flicking straight to him. Kira would've been lying if he said he hadn't wanted Sasaki-sensei to come over to personally congratulate him, but that wasn't what happened. Before addressing the class, or even acknowledging their presence he started past Kira, Renji and Hinamori without a glance, beelining straight through the crowd. Straight to Inuzuri.

Sasaki-sensei's stony face broke into a grin as he clapped a startled Inuzuri on his shoulder, "Looks like I have another prodigy on my hands!" Kira could feel the room sour, some scowls deepen. Inuzuri looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "You know, I taught another guy like you. _Just_ like you. Got scooped up and made third seat the second he graduated, lieutenant right after," Sasaki-sensei's grin widened. "Lieutenant Ichimaru, one of my favourite students! Rest of the faculty agrees, you two are nearly the same person."

And everyone,  _everyone_ , in the room watched as as Inuzuri's blank stare twisted into a deep grimace. 

None of them were planning to forget it, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said the end of February and it's 12:20AM on March 1st.  
> I'm counting it. Let's say I thought it was a Leap Year.  
> Well, we're into our second act! From here on out I'll try to update within a two month window— _try_. If I can't though I'll try and let you all know.  
>  Thank you all for waiting!


	7. Occupational Hazards

"So, basically, you're jealous?" Rukia asked once Renji had finished his long winded tale of the class rankings and the boy with the scars. The arrogant,  _awful_ boy with the scars, apparently. She had been sitting eating her lunch alone in a tiny clearing in the woods behind the Zanjutsu dojo when Renji somehow found her, came barreling up and immediately started with this story that she had a hard time caring about.

"No!" Renji yelled too loudly, cheeks flushing red. "Did you hear anything I said? He's an ass— I would never be jealous of someone like that."

"Really? Because it sounds like you're just pissed that someone ranked better than you."

He tried to glare but instead just looked vaguely wounded. He had told her this expecting vehement agreement, the support any of his other friends would proffer up, but she couldn't do it. She didn't want to. "You were the one who said he seemed crazy."

"Well," said Rukia, plucking a tiny piece of grass from beside her foot, "Maybe now I get what it's like to seem weird by Academy standards." She felt a distant simmer of guilt, far further from the surface than it should have been. They had grown up together, they had lost everyone else together, they had clawed their way to the Academy from the Rokongai together and yet when she looked at him she couldn't see that— he was another thriving student, excelling at what she was completely unfit for. Here he was positively distraught over second place while she hadn't even ranked. Only the students within the top twenty of their classes were posted and she hadn't found her name on any one of the lists. She was grateful though— she had a feeling that if they'd listed every single student from first to dead last the results would have been humiliating. Not  _second_ place humiliating, and not something Renji would understand.

Buried deep in the ugliest part of her there was a nascent resentment for her best friend, and she didn't know how to get rid of it. 

The wind rustled the leaves around them and a bird chirped from the tree above. "What are your friends doing?" She asked, eyes cast down to the grass. She hadn't decided whether or not she wanted him to leave her alone.

"You know their names."

She did. At first she was going to repeat herself, then she wanted to mention that Kira Izuru and Hinamori Momo most definitely didn't know _her_ name, then she felt herself sour, and then she decided that she was done with this conversation after all. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her cheek on her kneecap, facing opposite direction of Renji. He got it. She heard him rise the from ground and begin to stomp away, but he stalled before he made it out of the clearing. She turned her cheek to face at him, but he kept his back to her. "You're the one who wanted to come here."

 _And now I don't want to be here._  It was as simple as that. She couldn't think of a way to explain it to him though and didn't give it much of a try, so he left. 

Renji was loyal like a dog— no matter how often she used him as an emotional punching bag he wasn't going anywhere. But as much as he tried to conceal it and despite his newfound talents, he was also more insecure than any man she'd ever met, and if he began to get the feeling that it wasn't just bitterness and that she genuinely did not want him around, he'd go. And maybe it'd be best to let him. 

Rukia wasn't a nasty person, and she was _not_ a bad friend, but this place was doing something to her.

* * *

 

Bambietta slipped from her room and straightened her skirt. She'd been so tense lately that when a soldat who definitely wasn't  _un_ attractive came rapping at her door to announce a meeting for the Sternritter she just couldn't help herself. She wasn't usually like this, so self-indulgent, but that ugly little shinigami student's forewarning was echoing inside her and murdering her restraint. She had spared his life and he was still fucking her over. Typical.

"Keen on not leaving anything for the shinigami?"

 _Askin._  He was perched against the wall right outside her door, eyes flitting over every inch of her.

Her lip curled. "What?" He nodded downward, and her eyes flicked to her shirt. A dark red splat stained her chest, in the middle of her left breast pocket. When she tried to dab it the spot grew, red seeping over stark white fabric. She loosened her neckline and looked inside her shirt to find the left side of her bra completely blood-saturated. _Not again_. Askin tsked. "Were you waiting for me?" She asked.

"Just being neighborly. Wouldn't want you to catch His Majesty's wrath for being late."

She fixed her shirt. "Or are you just waiting to be invited in? If that's the case than don't hold your breath— if I decide I want a spuriously smug asshole I'll go for Gerard."

A smirk tugged to the corner of his mouth. "I can appreciate this— what you're going for," he gestured to the blood smear and her uneven stockings. "The Vamp of Silbern. Your execution is leaving something to be desired, but we'll chalk that up to you being too young and a bit too dumb for finesse. You'll get there eventually. Admirable effort in the meantime, though."

"God, how closely do you watch m— "

"You know, come to think of it," he said, ignoring her. "I never remember you being this way before Candi came along. You were just the pretty, mean girl who sometimes threw tantrums and then blew little villages to ash. I guess now you have to try a bit harder to set yourself apart— lug around that ridiculous scythe, seduce some fodder, keep that temper in check. Did you just not want for there to be two of you, or did watching her force you realize how absolutely grating you were?" When she took too long to think of a retort he started up again. "If it's any constellation I enjoy you, or at least what you're trying to do, much more than her. She would have been at my throat by now, and here you are with the dicipline to just stare me down with that seething disregard. It's admirable."

Askin was the kind of person who needed to be dealt with in a very specific way. A way that so many of the other Sternritter couldn't handle. It was a testament to Bambietta's resolve that she had it in her to make him tick. She had made him fume in the past, even once wondered if he felt slighted enough to try and poison her. It was fun, when she was in the mood for it. But right now she wasn't. 

"I don't think you'll be able to get your head around this, but I like to seem somewhat competent at my job, so I'm going to go to that meeting instead of smacking the shit out of the most pathetic member of Schutzstaffel." 

She brushed past him and he sighed, "Disappointing."

"I don't know why you're disappointed when I just stood there and let you spout your psychoanalytical bullshit at me even though I was already late," she said as he began to follow just a few steps behind her. "We've probably missed a good ten minutes of Haschwalth's Daten lecture."

"So you couldn't keep your hands off that messenger long enough of him to get a single word in?"

She looked over her shoulder at him, "Why?"

"This isn't going to be another lecture," his eyes glinted. "We're getting a new Sternritter."

* * *

Kaien was a second away from turning on his heel and leaving when he walked into the lieutenants meeting and saw that Ichimaru was the only one there. And he would have, had Ichimaru been alone.

Leaning against the table was a head of golden blonde hair with her back to Kaien. "And I know there's people who have been there longer than I have, but if they were going to have been made lieutenant wouldn't it have happened already?" She went on, not registering Kaien's presence. When she realized Ichimaru was no longer listening she turned around. "Oh."

She was pretty, all big blue eyes and a neckline cut dangerously low. Not the kind of person you'd expect to see chatting up Ichimaru. Actually, there was  _no_ type of person you would expect to see willingly chatting up Ichimaru. "Who's this?"

She looked caught, and understandably so— whatever her rank was she definitely wasn't supposed to be there. But then so did Ichimaru. His eyes still weren't open and he stayed in his chair, but that smirk was gone. When he didn't answer the girl gave a little bow, "Matsumoto Rangiku, Third Seat of Squad Ten. I'm sorry, I know I'm not supposed to be in here."

Not even in the same squad. When she started for the door Kaien held up a hand to halt her, "Don't worry about it, no one's telling. You new to the Tenth?"

He didn't recognize her and he spent too much time loitering around the there. She nodded, "Yeah, I transferred in a little over four months ago."

"From the Fifth?"

She shook her head  _No_ , but when she opened her mouth to elaborate Ichimaru cut her off, "You should head out now, Rangiku."

This was something. Kaien didn't know exactly what— it was but something. He could recognize how badly Ichimaru wanted to slip away from this interaction because that was how Kaien felt  _every single_ time they spoke. It was karmic. "Relax, no one else is gonna be here for another ten," Kaien waved him off. "Anyway, weren't you saying they're going to be making you a lieutenant soon?" He asked Rangiku. She gave a sly shrug. "Well, then you better get used to being in here. Tenth Division— so you'd be sitting right there," Kaien pointed to a chair near the opposite end of the table, right beside where he usually sat. 

"Another ten minutes?" Rangiku looked to the clock hanging above the doorway. 

 "It's barely breaking a rule, just some premature planning," said Kaien. "Anyway I'm curious about the company you keep, Ichimaru."

It wasn't a lie. Rangiku seemed socially apt and nice enough, and was too highly ranked to be using him for advancement. Unless she wandered into the Rukongai and stomped kittens on her days off, it just didn't make sense. What well-adjusted person would voluntarily stop to see Ichimaru? The fact that he wanted to get rid of her so badly had to mean something, considering he was not the kind of person who would be the least bit weary of smuggling someone into the meeting quarters. This was worth dragging out. Kaien didn't like games or power plays, but this was different. Ichimaru had spent half a century using every single word exchanged between them as a new way to try and shake Kaien. He did it to _everyone,_ for no reason. Even the most dignified members of the Gotei 13 would probably jump at the opportunity to mess with him. Had Rangiku seemed nervous or uncomfortable at all Kaien would have let her go, of course, but there was a glint in her eye and she didn't seem to have any intention of walking out that door. Kaien leveled his gaze his gaze on Ichimaru—  _You're up._  It took him no time at all to regain that composure. "Best to play it safe. We never know how the higher-ups are going to react to these kinds of things,"said Ichimaru, that goddamn smirk coming right back. "You remember what happened to the last girl who had a penchant for sneaking into meetings don't you, Lieutenant Shiba?"

He gestured down the table to a seat that had been vacant for nearly Kaien's entire tenure as a lieutenant.

"What?" Rangiku's eyes widened, "Who? What happened to her?"

"Nobody knows," Ichimaru said, voice lowering like he was delivering the final line to gristly campfire story. In a few decades when the new recruits filled in and everyone else was still just as reluctant think about what had happened maybe it would in fact devolve into just that— an urban legend. 

Kaien didn't say a word. Right away Rangiku noticed how badly the mood had soured and excused herself, exiting with a polite bow and telling Kaien it was a pleasure to meet him. It wasn't until he felt her reiatsu peter off into the distance that he made his way to the opposite end of the table and took a seat. "I guess I shouldn't say _no one_ knows what happened."

 This was not the first time Ichimaru had tried this. It wasn't even the fifth. Even though he knew Kaien was none the wiser about the events in Fugai he wouldn't let it drop. No one wanted to seem like they had any ties to or knowledge of what had happened. Decades ago and yet it was still virulent. It was a marvel the Shihōin house hadn't fallen, and that Squads Nine and Twelve hadn't been completely gutted. To this day Kaien didn't know whether the members of the affected squads had been told anything. Ichimaru had been the third seat of the Fifth Division under Hirako Shinji, and if there was more to know than he probably knew it. "Lieutenant Kotsubaki and Iba are going to be here soon. I heard they wouldn't be standing in at the Captains meeting today."

Kaien doubted Ichimaru had the nerve keep up the topic if Kotsubaki or Iba were to enter, but who knew. He'd been more brazen lately. The other day he'd pointedly introduced Kaien to a throng of new recruits, calling him a  _future captain_ in a way that seemed friendly enough but then made sure to mention to the group that the quick and dirty way for a lieutenant to get promoted was for their captain to die. Kaien initially saw red, assuming he meant Captain Ukitake, but then he saw the wide eyes of the recruits and realized that Ichimaru had maybe just wanted to imply to them that their new lieutenant was planning on killing their new captain. Nonetheless, bold. So if Iba or Kotsubaki were to come stomping through that door maybe there was a chance Ichimaru would ask them about their outlaw presumed dead ex-captains. Or maybe he wouldn't dare and just liked to screw with Kaien. Probably the later. 

 By some saving grace Ichimaru deemed it best to leave Kaien alone in the final few moments before the rest of the lieutenants began to take their seats. 

As much as Kaien believed in what they did he knew that there were fathoms beneath the surface. Sixty years ago seven captains and four lieutenants had disappeared and it was left at that. There was no investigation, there were no announcements, and there were no records. It wasn't a happening, it was a  _doing._ Something had been done that they weren't allowed to know about. Something that could be done again, and to anyone, apparently.

This wasn't a job for idealists. 

 

* * *

 "Shit," muttered Bazz-B as Askin and Bastard-bine finally came and fell into line _._ "Guess we aren't getting a new 'E 'or 'D'. Everyone here now?" Neither Cang Du or Liltotto replied. Fuck, they were boring. Of all the people to be stuck beside. "We're missing a _G-_ un. And some _I-_ ce. Or a _G-_ rave."

Still nothing. May as well have stuck him between two goddamn cement blocks. 

He huffed. Right now with every Sternritter lined up like this all it'd take was a blast of Burner Finger 1 in either direction and _bam,_ they were done. Every last one. Why the fuck did His Majesty even bother to gather them like this? They all hated each other, and it wasn't like a memo wouldn't get the job done. The only way this would've been worth it was if he'd summoned them all to publically execute someone. If everyone was there that might have been the case, actually. Bazz-B took a step back out of the line and began to quietly list everyone off. He nearly got to Z and was beginning to think that everyone was in fact there when he found it, "...T, U, V, W," he stopped. His eyes scanned the line for her once, then again, wondering if maybe she'd just been misplaced.

She really wasn't there.

His mouth quirked into a smirk and Cang-Du took notice, "What?"

"Kask."

"What about her?"

He nodded down the line. Liltotto noticed and took a few steps back to get a good look. "What's going on?" Asked Basterbine from a few spots down.

Litotto stepped back into place. "Looks like we're missing an 'X'."

* * *

Katja Kask, The Xenotrophic.

Good fucking _riddance._ Candice had never liked her, or her bottle blonde split ends, and especially not her dumb-as-shit epithet. She like, infected people, or something. It was stupid. And worst of all she had once called Candice's power _'obvious',_ because apparently giving your opponent a cold trumps free reign over the damn heavens.

"Why again wasn't she a friend of yours, Candi?" Asked Mask. 

Usually she would have told him to fuck off and never talk to her, but she was in too decent a mood. "Same reason I don't go near Gabrielli," she raised her voice loud enough for Bernice to hear a few people down. "She _sucked."_

Gabrielli growled and muttered something too low to reach Candice's ears. She was such trash. They all were— Bernice, Jerome, Mask, NaNaNa. One of these days she'd get hives from having to get so close to them. _Gross._ The only thing that would make all this worth it was if Haschwalth took to the podium and snapped off Kask's head for them all to see. It hadn't ever happened before, but there was a first for everything. If they did decide to start hacking people up during these meetings Meni would've totally been in the splash zone. Candice didn't know whether or not she was jealous of that.

She fidgeted in her place, and was thinking about turning to either Mask or NaNaNa and telling one of them that they looked like shit and were getting replaced next, but before she knew it the Sternritter were toppling like dominoes onto one knee, and behind her every soldat was crooked into a bow.

Yhwach emerged first from the shadows of the podium, then Haschwalth. Candi drew in a breath of anticipation when she noticed another figure lurking behind, ready to watch Kask bleed, but as the person drew closer it was all wrong— too tall, too sinewy, too loud a step. A man. He came into the light, all taut muscle and cool blonde hair stark against dark skin. The makings for an attractive man.

But when Candice saw his eye she grimaced. Molted into his left eye and sealing it shut was a big, ugly _X_.

* * *

 Lille Barro, The X-Axis.

What the hell did that even mean? Was his ability graphing, or was it just because of the scar? It just went to show what a mess Kask was— they gave that guy an epithet that made absolutely no sense because they needed a new X so badly. 

Lilitotto wandered back to Bambi's room with the rest of them, offhandedly wondering who'd be next. Gabrielli, probably. Or Jerome. Hopefully both. 

"What the hell is an  _X-Axis?"_ Asked Candi once they were all in the room and the door had been shut, loud as ever. "I mean he had a gun. Why the wouldn't they call him, like, the  _Gun?_ _"_

Liltotto leaned against the dresser, noticing a blood slick blooming from beneath the bed. Another rough day for Bambi. "Because we didn't need a new 'G'."

It took Candi a second to realize what she'd done. "Whatever," she tossed her hair over one shoulder and made a face, noticing the blood. "A new 'S' then, who cares."

"I'd say Katja was more of a liability than Mask." Said Meni.

"If I was stuck with something like—"

"Be quiet." They turned to Bambi, sitting on the edge of her bed and rubbing at her left temple. 

Candi's lip curled. "Why the—"

Before she could finish Bambietta had grabbed a crystal drinking glass from her bedside table and with a violent fling sent it across the room. The glass met the pearly marble wall and loudly burst between Candi and Gigi's heads. Shards gleamed, splayed all across the floor and catching the soft yellow light. Bambi's cheeks were flushed. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

Candi's eyes were wide from the impact of the glass, "What the hell?"

"Do you not hear yourselves?" Bambi asked and no one wanted to answer. This was one of those times her temper wouldn't do them any favors. "The _X-Axis?_ The _gun?_ You all saw him!"

Lilitotto glanced at the faces of the others. No one was getting it. "I don't understand," said Meni.

"He mentioned this,"

"Who did?"

"The one at the Academy," Bambi had quieted down but there was still something uncomfortably feral in her eyes. "He said, when he was listing us all off in the Head Captain's office, that he knew about the Sternritter with the sniper riffle and the 'X' scar over his eye."

For a moment they were all dead still, trying to remember back. That kid had only mentioned the five of them, plus Bazz-B and Opie, hadn't he? "How do you remember that?" Asked Candi.

"How  _don't_ you? He specifically called out all of you, and Bazz-B, Accutrone, Quilge, and that guy— Barro."

No one said anything because no one knew whether or not she was right. Lilitotto couldn't remember much of what the student had said— those few days were such a blur. They hadn't even been able to recall whether or not he'd mentioned Bambi that night he spoke to them from the Head Captain's quarters. Suddenly Liltotto's stomach tightened, "You got rid of those tapes, right?"

"What?" 

"The tapes of him in the Head Captain's quarters. You got rid of them, didn't you?"

"Yes," Bambietta said sharply, smoothing a hand over her flustered cheeks. "I got rid of the tapes." But she didn't seem bothered by the assertion or demean Liltotto for having the nerve to even ask. No insults, no yelling, no violence.

"You fucking _liar_."

Bambietta stared hard at Liltotto, but it was void of any real offense. "Pardon me?"

"You kept the tapes and you watched them again to make sure he really didn't mention you. There's no way that after everything you could possibly remember some bullshit he said about a guy we didn't even know existed."

She scoffed, "So because you fucking airheads have short term memory loss I must have kept the tapes? It was three days ago."

"Oh come _on,"_ Lilitotto didn't know if Bambietta would ever admit it, no matter how caught she was. Usually she would have dropped it because they were all occasional liars but those tapes were too dangerous. "You didn't even realize he hadn't mentioned you until he flat out said he had no idea who you were."

There were a lot of things Bambietta could have said or done— she could have refined her story and made it something they were able to believe, she could have found a way to turn it all back around on Liltotto, she could have brought them back to the whole X-Axis matter. Candi and Meni still looked unsure, and Gigi was whatever. Only one of four in opposition, and that was nothing. Bambi could have so easily spun it. But, she rolled her eyes, huffed, "Whatever," and said, "I'm not doing this right now."

An admission of guilt if there ever was one. "Where is it?"

"Oh, I swear," Candi hissed, "if you didn't get rid of them,"

"I already told you to get out." Bambietta said and fell back onto her bed. Of course she still had the tapes. Why wouldn't she have kept them? They didn't incriminate her— sure, if they were to be found she ran the risk of being painted guilty by association, but she'd probably already come up with an explanation. Just one more thing for her to dangle over their heads.

_You bitch._

There was so much Liltotto was itching to do and say— tear the room apart looking for those tapes, yell at Bambietta for all the stupid things she'd done the last few days, burn this entire place if all else failed. But she couldn't. Askin was right next door, and Pepe liked to lurk around, and if they were to hear a word this then it was over. Exploding marble and Candi's shouting was easy enough to ignore, but if Bambietta was gearing up to throw a fit that would garner some eavesdroppers. There was nothing she could do, and she had a feeling if she stayed a nastier side of her would win out. She turned away and began to walk. Gigi might snark, watery and ineffective Meni would do nothing, and Candi would scream and rage and have to be dragged away. Nothing new. Nothing that needed to be seen.

Liltotto paused at the door and took a final look at Bambietta. None of them ever had or ever would _like_ each other— their dispositions wouldn't allow it. However, she didn't hate Meni, or Gigi, or even Candi. Their presences wavered between grating and nondescript. Whatever happened between now and the invasion she wasn't particularly invested in their survival, but she would never, ever risk her life or rank to kill any of them.

She couldn't say the same about Bambi, though. As she looked to her, prone and unaware on that bed, all Liltotto could think of was plucking one of those shards of glass from the floor and slicing through her throat like it was a soft stick of butter.

* * *

 Ichigo fliched when Hino-sensei came and clapped him on the shoulder at the end of class. "Inuzuri, there's something I've been meaning to discuss with you."

He tensed. Had he done anything suspicious lately? The mark on his neck was gone and he had fielded any discussion about his ranking well enough. He had sat out most of class, but he always did that. "What is it?"

Hino have him a grin, "Relax, you aren't in any trouble," students filled around them, some giving Ichigo a nasty side-eye. _Stealing more of Hino's time and attention._ "I just wanted to talk a bit about your progress."

"Okay," Ichigo took a steadying breath.

"Well," Hino began, giving his chin a scratch. "I've been chatting a bit with the other Class One instructors. You've been coming up a lot, lately. We all agree that there's something... _different_ about you. You're not quite like the other students. But I'm sure you know that."

"Okay," said Ichigo again, his mouth dry.

"We've seen this a few times before, students who have issues assimilating with the curriculum and their classmates. It isn't a bad thing," his tone wasn't unkind. "The opposite, really. Usually we find the best course of measure is to bump these students ahead a year."

No. _No, no, no._

Low profile. Under the radar. Unnoticed. He wasn't supposed to make a ripple. "Does this happen a lot?"

"No," Hino shook his head. "Most students find Class One plenty intense. Too intense. But I've seen you in class _,_ and I don't think you're being challenged."

Why had he thought he could sit out all but ten minutes of a two hour class? "I just get tired."

"Come on," he clapped Ichigo on the shoulder again, hard enough to bruise someone regular. "Don't worry, I get it. If I was having to face off against this fodder I'd be sitting out too."

If Ichigo had done this properly he would be the 'fodder', and Renji or Kira or Hinamori would be getting this chat. He'd stolen the praise, the attention, the renown— all things that weren't rightfully his. It was too late to backtrack. "Is this official?"

"No, not yet. Just wanted to give you the heads up."

 "Great. Thank you," He tried to make it sound sincere. "I have to get to Hohō." Ichigo bowed, because that was what students did, then said goodbye, and got out that door as quickly as possible. He was confident his Hohō teacher wouldn't pull him aside— he held a light disdain for Ichigo. Hino was the only one of the instructors who seemed fond of him, and he'd only come around after Ichigo had put Renji in the infirmary. 

This was a mess. How had he gotten this so wrong? Every misstep there was to take he'd taken— contacting the Quincy, clawing his way up the class ranking, breaking Renji's ribs, coming to the Academy in the first place. He'd been in impossible situations before and emerged victorious, but this wasn't tilting in his favor. He'd always had guidance, instruction. Someone else at the helm. The worst part was he had people here, _right_ here, but they weren't his people yet. At this rate, would they ever be? Renji hated him, and he hadn't seen Rukia but he had a feeling she was in the same boat.

He'd begun to compare this to every one of his past mistakes, no matter how small, and realized that there was always a boiling point. A moment when the water begins to simmer over the edge and suddenly a light-handed approach is no longer an option— Aizen fusing with the hōgyoku, Yhwach and Ishida, letting the Espada stomp around his town until Orihime was captured.

Last night that had lead him to his worst realization yet— and there was a real possibility that it was too late to salvage this, that his errors were too big and too many and now he would have to sit and wait for the inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho-ly shit. This was work. About three Saturdays ago I'd written a good third of this (the Kaien/Candice/Lilitotto parts) when my browser tab crashed and I. Lost. It. All.  
> But hey— now it's done, I'm only twelve days late, and I've learned a very valuable lesson about saving as I go and updating my browser. And, for what a mess this was to write I feel good about the way it turned out.  
> I had to put some pretty important, time-sensitive things on hold to finish this, so now that it's done I'm looking forward to getting some work done. Or watching the new JonBenet documentary and passing out on my couch.  
> Will update by December.


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